


Memo, The

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-04
Updated: 2008-04-04
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Overworked Donna in a stuffy storage room.





	Memo, The

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

It was the latest late night Donna had ever known in her life, and it wasn’t even close to being over yet. She was sitting in a hot, stuffy room stacked floor to ceiling with boxes, wearily searching through them for what was supposedly a crucial piece of information.

Josh was meeting with a congressman from Wyoming the following morning, and he desperately needed the names of the man’s grandchildren. Bonnie had overheard Josh telling Donna this, and mentioned something about a memo sent for the congressman’s last visit to the White House over a year ago that she thought must contain the information. "But it’s got to be in storage by now," she had concluded unhelpfully, before moving on to the coffee machine.

"Donna," Josh said, turning to her immediately, hope dawning on his face, "I need you to—"

"Josh, no," she cut him off. "‘Storage’ means hunting through boxes for hours in a very tiny room with very poor air circulation. You know how I feel about poor air circulation."

"We need their names, Donna."

"You could get them some other way."

"Like how?"

"No one in the White House knows this guy? I find that hard to believe."

"Not a soul. He’s relatively junior."

"Then call his staff, ask them!" Donna threw her hands in the air. "Call his friends! Call his mother!"

"Can’t do that, they’ll tattle to him."

"Or," Donna said, her voice growing in volume, "Just ‘fess up and admit you forgot their names. Would it kill you to be honest?"

Josh just looked at her. "This is politics, so...yes."

"I am sickened and revolted."

"You’ve gotta look through those boxes for me, Donna. The names of his grandkids could be the deal breaker!"

"I find that breathtakingly unlikely."

"We’re meeting about some friends of his on Ways and Means, I need his help influencing them. I need to charm him."

"I am sickened and revolted."

"Donna, you’ve got to find that memo for me. I know you can do it."

She stared down at her toes, thinking of all the fun things she could be doing with her night. Finally, teeth clenched, she ground out, "I’ll do it."

"Good girl. And by the way, ‘sickened and revolted,’ that’s redundant," Josh said, heading into his office.

"I’m disgusted too!" Donna hollered after him rebelliously, before sitting back down at her desk in a huff. She was not looking forward to later that evening.

The real problem, however, wasn’t that she had to search through box after box after box for some insignificant memo. It was that she would do it willingly, and flounce around though she might, she wasn’t even really mad at him. Josh Lyman was a man she would walk through fire for, whose professional (and often personal) life she held together single-handedly. Because she was good at her job, yes, but also because she cared about him, so much that it frightened her.

And that was to say nothing of the tension she felt between them that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her, that she had no idea what to do with because it was utterly impossible to do anything at all. Every time he looked at her in that certain way, that way that said he appreciated her more than he could say - or when he got that charged expression on his face from their not-so-professional hallway banter - or in those rare moments he complimented the way she looked in a voice that was at once confused and completely sincere – every time, she became more and more his.

And, unfortunately for her, that meant she was spending her evening in a tiny room with poor circulation, piles and piles of meaningless bits of paper decorating her lap. My very finely-attired lap, she hastened to mentally add. Tonight the First Lady was hosting a cocktail party in the Mural Room in honor of President Bartlet’s birthday, who had insisted on a small White House event only. No cameras, no press, just the senior staff and their senior assistants if they wished to come, plus dates.

Donna had been there all of twenty minutes, in a brand new black cocktail dress that was very flattering, when Josh had tugged on her elbow and asked her if the reason she was socializing so comfortably was that she’d found the information he was in such dire need of and had failed to tell him so for some unfathomable reason. She’d glared appropriately and left without a word to come straight here. Three hours later she was only halfway through the boxes, and she’d been so absentminded all week that she couldn’t rightly trust her inspection of the finished ones behind her.

"I need to start standing up for myself," she mumbled. "No one else on the planet would have agreed to do this. Even he probably didn’t expect me to. Must be wondering how he got such a gullible assistant."

Her fair hair was coming loose from its twist – a piece in front tumbled into her eyes. She set down the file folder she was holding to pin it back up, and noticed CJ standing in the doorway, looking down at her incredulously.

"Donna," she said, a glass of wine descending from her mouth, which was open in shock. "I thought I heard a voice. What in the world are you doing in here so late?"

"I am looking," Donna said, valiantly cheerful, "for a year-old memo."

"It’s almost one in the morning, we’re saving everything for tomorrow!"

"Well, this can’t wait. Josh needs to know the names of Congressman Ellis’s grandchildren."

CJ just stared at her for a long moment. Then she burst out laughing.

"Okay, not helpful," Donna muttered, pushing her current box behind her and grabbing a new one.

"I’m sorry," CJ said, recovering. "It’s just that Josh can be a real jackass sometimes."

"It’s something he really needs," Donna said loyally. "He wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important."

"Okay." CJ looked unconvinced. "Well, Sam and I are headed over to Toby’s place. His brother sent him a foosball table, he wants to break it out. I think Josh is coming too."

"Sounds fun," Donna sighed.

"I won’t offer to help you look, because it would be an empty offer, and if you took me up on it I would immediately turn and run behind the nearest door with a lock."

"Fair enough."

"But if you want to come with us, you’re welcome. I could use a teammate, Toby was ranting about how he was his high school’s foosball champion. As if anyone else would voluntarily admit such a thing. And," she added, "if you decide to leave, I’ll stick up for you in front of Josh tomorrow. Trust me, you’re more than justified."

"Don’t tempt me," Donna groaned. "I must stay the course."

"Suit yourself." CJ turned to go, then stopped. "Here, take this wine."

Donna eyed it like a woman dying of thirst. "You mean it?"

"I do. Here. And Donna? You look lovely tonight."

"You too," Donna said with a smile, taking the wine. Once CJ was gone, she took a small grateful sip. She rarely drank, a direct result of her job having become her entire life, so one nearly full glass would get her nicely buzzed and hopefully carry her the rest of the way through this nightmare of an evening.

She also appreciated the invitation to Toby’s. The senior staff was a close-knit group, and Donna admired and liked them all a great deal. It wasn’t often she got the opportunity to see them after working hours, which was why, she reflected, as she wrenched the lid off a new box viciously, she would have loved to be at the party tonight. Enough sipping; Donna paused to down the entire glass of wine in one vindictive gulp. Of course her nose stung and her eyes began watering a second later.

"Well, look who it is," said a very familiar voice from where CJ had been standing a moment before. Donna whipped her head up to see Josh in the doorway, tie loose around his neck and holding a glass identical to hers. He was wearing the expression of his that said he was happy just to see her. She felt a strange ache inside her chest, and she looked quickly back down at the files and continued to sort.

"Huh," she said, forcing her voice to sound light, "wouldn’t you know it. Wish death upon him, and he appears."

"You’re working?" he said, sounding scandalized. "At this time of night? What sort of madman slave driver boss are you working for?"

He sounded highly amused with himself. It was his teasing voice, the one he used when he let their conversations push the stress and politics out of his mind and focused only on getting a rise out of her. It was almost too adorable, so Donna looked back up at him stonily. "The kind of boss that cracks bad jokes," she said, "often at exactly the wrong moment."

"Give me his number. I’ll send him some of my material."

"You’re drunk, aren’t you?" Donna asked suddenly, examining his loose posture and wide grin. She herself was feeling the wine start to relax her muscles.

"If you haven’t found Bonnie’s memo," Josh said, avoiding the question with a grin, "you can give up. Everyone’s gone, I think I’m gonna head to Toby’s. You should come with."

"Give up?" Donna repeated dully. She set the files down carefully and folded her hands. "You’re telling me I can give up now, after three hours of this?"

"Hey, if you can’t find it, you can’t find it," he said with infuriating nonchalance.

"I’ve been through HALF THE BOXES IN THIS ROOM ALREADY!"

Josh looked taken aback by her yell. "Yeah, so that’s why—"

"I MAY AS WELL KEEP LOOKING AT THIS POINT, RIGHT?!"

Josh sighed. There was a moment of silence while he drained the rest of his glass. "Okay, I’ve been a jerk about this, haven’t I?"

"A jackass, to quote CJ."

He looked down at her empty glass, then said brightly, "Well, at least you got some wine!"

At this, Donna blinked, and stood up slowly and deliberately. She was tired, and she was furious with him and with herself for agreeing to do this stupid stupid thing, and she was so exasperated with feelings for him that would no longer stay below the surface. She was about to absolutely let him have it – but then something in his face as he watched her stand up unsettled her. She was suddenly very aware of all the leg that was showing below the hem of her dress, and the heat of the room on the back of her neck.

Donna swallowed, and gathered her wits again. "CJ came by and asked what I was doing and when I told her she laughed at me, Joshua," she said sharply. "I told her that you wouldn’t have asked me to do this if you...if you didn’t think...I mean, if it wasn’t really...important."

She was suddenly fumbling for words as he moved slowly closer to her. There was something new about the expression in his eyes.

"Donna," he said, "have I mentioned yet that you look really nice tonight?"

"Um, no." She took a small step back, and found herself against a wall. Lightly, she added, "Although I’d say it’s overdue. But don’t think this will get you out of—"

"Donna, you look really nice tonight."

With a jolt, she realized what the new expression was. Stress and politics were utterly gone from his voice and face, and he seemed to have wholly entered that state he never, ever let himself enter during White House business hours, though he’d come close: he looked at her, and he saw only her.

Donna knew this and she was hypnotized by it. It was what she always unconsciously reached for, never let herself consciously hope for.

"Josh, I—"

"And have I ever told you what an amazing assistant you are?"

"No," she said, so close to him that she could feel his body heat, unwilling to meet his eyes again, "but at this current juncture I’d like to stress that word, assistant—"

"You know, Donna," he said, wearing that bemused little smile of his that could melt a glacier, "I’ve heard rumors that you may have just a bit of a crush on me."

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. Donna struggled to recover the power of speech. "Rumors from, um, rumors from who?"

"From pretty much everyone who’s worked with us for the past four years."

"Well, believe half of what you see and none of what you hear, that’s what I always—"

"I’ve also heard rumors," he continued unfazed, now inches away from her, "that I have a bit of a crush on you. Whispers if you will, murmurs along the grapevine."

"Have you?" she squeaked. Oh god he’s drunk and he’s rambling and I need a way out of this or I am going to lose all self-control. "Well," she said as a last-ditch attempt, "it’s late, and I really do want to find that memo—"

"We’ve worked together for a while now, Donna."

She cleared her throat. "Yes, that’s right, we have."

"And haven’t you ever wondered, just once, what it would be like to...kiss?"

There was utter silence in the stuffy room as she looked up, straight into his eyes. She could avoid it no longer. 

"I know I have," he said in a low voice, when she didn’t answer right away.

The moment hung between them, tension palpable in the air, as her sense of propriety battled against her heart’s instinct to tell him the truth. "I may have wondered too," she whispered finally, lowering her eyelids.

And, as she knew he would, as she had hoped and feared so painfully, he kissed her.

The pressure against Donna’s lips was gentle but the impact was violent and immediate and a wave of some force she could no more name than fight swept through her. She was standing against a wall in a stuffy storage room, being kissed by a boss she’d loved since perhaps her first week of working for him, and of course she knew she shouldn’t be doing it, and then she suddenly realized it didn’t matter because she couldn’t get enough of it and she would never, ever stop. Josh’s lips tasted like the wine she’d just drunk and he smelled like his suits always smelled and his hands were on her neck and his body was pressed against hers perfectly.

She meant to stay quiet and let the kiss run its course. But as he moved his lips to the corner of her mouth and pushed her body more firmly against the wall, she moaned. He pulled back, reacting as if it were a gunshot. The chemistry between them, already running high and tremulous, kicked up a few notches into the unbearable zone.

He moved one hand to the small of her back and the other to her collarbone and poured all of himself into the next series of kisses that left her without a trace of breath, feeling as though her bones were made of butter. She moved her arms up, wrapped them around him, wanting to close any millimeter of space that may have remained between them.

How they slid down the wall and made it safely to the floor, she didn’t know. But one moment she was sitting with her back against it, hands roaming under his suit jacket, and the next she was under him, new cocktail dress and hair in disarray, and he was pulling off his jacket and tossing his tie aside as she murmured, "Yes." She was only conscious of the need to never stop kissing him.

It was as if their bodies were magnetically fused together. She’d read about that sensation in love stories and, jaded from her own experiences, had always scoffed; now she knew she would never scoff again.

She felt drunker than a glass of wine could have ever made her. She felt both liquid and solid in Josh’s arms, guided by his warmth and by her body’s growing need. She felt really, really—

"Horny," Josh muttered into her ear, and she shivered. "I’m not sure I’ve ever been this horny in my life, Donna. I have tried for so long to keep myself from wanting to do this."

He bowed his head for a moment, resting it on her chest, which, she realized suddenly, he had yet to touch.

"Your clothes," Donna breathed.

"What about them?" He angled his head up to grin at her crookedly.

"Take them off."

"Well I suppose if you really—"

"Take them off."

Even as he smiled at her insistence, his eyes darkened another shade of desire.

When he finally moved to enter her, he watched her the entire time. At the first brush of contact with his flesh, shockwaves went through her. The ache in her chest was back as she looked up into his eyes – then she made a sound she had never known she was capable of as he began to push in – a pressure and a friction that made her want to sob, it felt so good.

His eyes were half-lidded as he watched their bodies begin to move together. How did they find the perfect rhythm so quickly? He’d pushed the straps of her dress down, and her breasts were uncovered, pale and beautiful in the dim light against the gray wool coat he’d laid down for her comfort. His hands sought them now, tracing them reverently – he’d never felt this reverence for any woman before, not his first girlfriend, not his last.

It rocked him to the core that something could suddenly be more important in this heated moment than his own physical gratification, but there it was – she was beautiful and precious and he wanted to show her that he thought so with every moment that passed. How could he do that if he just pounded away to a climax?

He looked up from where their bodies were joined, to her face, helpless with passion and pleasure. He also saw a suspicious wetness in her eyes. "Donna," he whispered, and kissed her eyelid, "what is it?"

"Josh," she whispered back, her darling blue eyes wide. He’d never seen anyone look so earnest. "It feels – so – good – I can’t even tell you – "

"I know," he breathed, his voice full of awe. Then, rocking his pelvis back and sliding his hands down her hips, he found a new angle. "It’s incredible," he whispered. "Donna, I think I’m– "

"Me too," she breathed. "Just hold on..." She moved her hands down his back, down his arms. Her breath hitched. "I’m going to come," she moaned, and it was like music. "Josh..."

And she opened her eyes and looked straight into his and went off the edge – he felt her squeezing him and releasing him and thought he might die from the pleasure, and then he followed her over the edge and they held onto each other and Donna began to cry in earnest from the sheer intensity of the feeling. Their voices were one voice as they panted and moaned and gradually relaxed, and Josh settled on top of her, again resting his head on her chest.

"I’ve never – " Donna began, after a long, sleepy silence. Her voiced was dazed; she struggled to form words. "I mean, I haven’t – "

"Me neither," Josh said. They shared a wide smile. "I’ve never felt anything like that."

"Josh...." She couldn’t help it, she felt like something needed to be said. About the situation, the madness of it, the impossibility. But it was breaking her heart just thinking about it.

"Shhhh," he said. "Later, okay? Let’s doze for a while." He looked up, checking her eyes for approval, and saw that something was stuck to her elbow. It was from a pile of papers that they’d sprawled on top of in their haste. "Here, let me get that for you."

"Oh, yeah, okay."

He pulled it from under her, and glanced at it briefly. His eyes widened.

"What?"

"It’s the memo," he said, laughing with incredulity. "The Ellis memo. Here it all is. His father’s family, mother’s maiden name, wife, kids, grandkids..."

"I can’t believe it." Donna looked as he held it up for her to see. 

"Neither can I." He put the memo in his coat pocket, then leaned up to kiss her lips. "But then there are a lot of things about this world that I just can’t believe."

~

The End

Thanks for reading.


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